


Fearboner Central

by twofoldAxiom



Series: Chimeric'verse and Crash'verse [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bulges and Nooks, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Eye Trauma, Fear Play, Gore, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nook Eating, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threshecutioner Karkat, Unsafe Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 10:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12167328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: Dave has nothing better to do than pester deadly alien spec-ops apparently, but at least it turns out well in the end, especially when he discovers, hey, he'sreally intothe lethal part of that description.(No rape happens in this fic. Plenty of sex and violence either way, and an implication of it in one scene.)





	Fearboner Central

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy this is a long one, and mostly just porn too.
> 
> Special thanks to my moirail, [Essynkardi](http://essynkardi.tumblr.com/), for kicking my ass to write this one, and also giving me money to do so (or rather giving me money and then I decided I couldn't let that stand by without doing something for him. Whoops.)
> 
> Anyway, as usual, mind the warnings and feel free to point out what you like, or just typos and plot holes. Have fun!

You’re bored.

You try exploring the weird side of the internet and end up just regretting your decisions when you find the kind of furry art you know Jade hides in a sketchpad under the bed. You try browsing a porn site and end up regretting _that_ when you find a cut of one of Bro’s old smuppet snuff films in all its badly compressed horrorglory. You check a couple more sites before finally giving up.

Nothing on Netflix, no good recommendations on youtube, nothing new you can come up with for your music. It’s one of those slow, lonely, uninspiring days you wish Karkat would just stay over all the time instead of living in his glorified space trailer on the beach.

Which means it’s just about time to go bother him into another sleepover, of course. It’s the only reasonable course of action.

Well, no it isn’t. The reasonable thing, you think, would be to bother someone who won’t leave noticeable marks all over your back (arms, legs, _everything_ ) or reopen the wounds still healing from after _last_ time you got in his pants. You could hang out at the cafe, or with your brother, or maybe get a little fresh air. You could crash one of Rose’s book club meetings, or something to that effect.

You quash the thought almost immediately, though, because Jane’s dad hates you, Dirk sleeps at this hour, and Jade would be _working_ at the greenhouse, and would ask you to help her _work_ , which just isn’t gonna fly.

Also because the last time you crashed Rose’s book club meeting, they were discussing Anne Rice.

(Ew.)

Well. And none of them have the possibility of another fuck on the table. That’s a contributing factor, if you’re being honest with yourself. You were never the most considerate person _before._

Your name is Dave Strider and you’ve got it bad for the alien invader you discovered a month ago that’s been living on the beach ever since. The same alien invader that abducted you and did all sorts of godawful shit that you tell yourself you wish had stayed squarely in the realm of bad scifi movies. The same alien invader that you proceeded to stumble across in the dead of night and then fuck into a shivering heap, because you’re sick in the head and it felt like the only vengeance that would fit.

The same alien invader that you are now, a month later, for lack of better word, _dating._

But you can save picking apart your motivations for later. You’ve got better things (and aliens) to do, so you open up Pesterchum and drop him a line on the account you harassed him into making last week.

(You didn’t really, you showed him the program and he bitched about it not having the functionalities that thing called Trollian did.)

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] is offline --

Well, you didn’t really expect him to be online. Who the hell is he going to talk to? You added your friends to his chumroll when he signed up, but he doesn’t have enough in common with them for you to expect riveting conversations and blossoming friendships. He still doesn’t have troll wifi or whatever convoluted phrase he’d use to describe it, either. You don’t want to think about what it might be.

TG: yo karkat my man  
TG: karkittles   
TG: k-vants in my pants except you are apparently everywhere but my pants right now   
TG: i have literally nothing to do this afternoon so im going to visit you over there in your space pod  
TG: that cool with you???  
TG: ill take your silence as a yes okay  
TG: sure dave just come on over and knock ill roll out the welcome mat and the cheesy snacks or whatever heinous intergalactic cuisine ive got hiding in my extraterrestrial refrigerator  
TG: sorry “hunger trunk”  
TG: except thats a stupid thing to call a fridge so forget that i said that  
TG: anyway i dont plan on staying long actually im coming to harangue you into hanging out again  
TG: dunno if youd even be awake at this hour but you probably will be by the time i get there i guess  
TG: i have no idea if youve adapted to a diurnal schedule yet so here i am to help you out on that  
TG: god knows i didnt until like eighth grade and then promptly fell back into my trainwreck of a sleep schedule in ninth  
TG: fucking mr stevenson made sure of that lemme tell ya  
TG: that guy could put a squirrel on meth to sleep faster than a lethal dose of moose tranquilizer  
TG: anyway later  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

That should be enough of a notice for him. It’s not like he has anything else to do in there besides futilely attempt to contact the mothership/homeworld/whatever, and by the time he gets off his ass and checks pesterchum, he won’t have the time to tell you to fuck off, because you’re already there.

Though he might still tell you to fuck off in person. But you’re stubborn enough that he’ll at least let you hang out for a little while before you do. Either way, you’ll have entertained yourself suitably for some time at least, so it’s a win-win for you.

You stretch until your shoulders pop and get out of your seat. The shallow, stinging lines on your back protest at the movement, reminding you of every inch of them in a way that makes you grit your teeth, and you think of jagged teeth and red-tipped claws, the smell of spices that almost burn to breathe in. Somehow it makes your dick twitch anyway, thinking of his mouth on you, the sounds he made when you fucked him.

You shake your head and start out the door. Sun’s out, making you glad for your shades, and the sea breeze is light enough that you’re both slightly more serene than you were a second ago and even more intensely aware of your own libido starting to rear its ugly head. All the omegas and alphas that wander the beach lately must be having an effect on you.

Or maybe it’s an effect Karkat’s having on you, you don’t exactly have a point of reference being that none of your one night stands were ever sexy aliens that did horrifying experiments on you before. You can practically hear Rose scribbling on a clipboard already as you walk down the beach, sand crunching underfoot and gulls squawking overhead. You have no idea what Rose would _actually_ say about your psychological integrity in the face of this, but you also don’t think you want to know.

(You’ve made the mistake of asking her opinion on your exploits one too many times before, results ranging from “Get a job, Dave” to “You’re making up for a lack of a positive feminine influence in your life with self-destructive masculinity displays”, whatever that last one means.)

You almost walk into the low cliff surrounding Karkat’s little hideaway. The water’s high enough at this hour that you have to get your feet wet to get in the private little cove, but once you circle the rock face, the pod comes into view, scorched red hull gleaming dully in the midday light. No windows and barely any visible seams, with three ovals in the front that you assume are something like headlights. It looks kind of like a massive bug of some kind, though you’d be hard pressed to compare it to any actual Earth life.

You whistle, loudly, and wait a moment. Karkat’s usually either on the surrounding cliffs (which isn’t likely, the sun being hot and high as it is right now) or in the pod itself, and he isn’t showing himself right just now so he’s probably inside.

You readjust your shades and plod through the soft, soggy sand until you’re right up next to it, and to your surprise, it’s open. To your _greater_ surprise, there’s nobody inside, or at least it doesn’t look like there’s anybody inside, because nothing seems to be running.

You feel a cold pang of worry in your gut that maybe the thing is out of power and Karkat booked it to somewhere far away and out of reach, that you’ll never see him again. But that’d be stupid, because knowing him and his meticulous tendency to make himself hard to find besides the one night you followed him home, he’d have taken the thing apart and thrown the pieces into the sea if such were the case.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, as you step into the pod and call out. “Yo, Crabpuffs McNubs, are you taking a nap or something?”

No answer, which means he probably isn’t taking a nap, or he’s locked the door tight. You actually wander in a little deeper- it’s not very spacey in here, but it’s still enough room for there to _be_ a deeper to wander into- and press your ear to his cabin door. The cool, plasticky surface is smooth, still, and reveals nothing about what may be inside if he’s jacking off in there or whatever.

You sigh and lean back, jamming your hands in your pockets. “Well shit, I guess I’ll just have to vandalize the place for when he comes back.”

You take a deep breath, preparing to turn.

And feel cool metal curving across your throat, a warm body pressed up against your back and pushing you up against the door with a thud that leaves you gasping. Your immediate instincts are to fight back, fear for your life, reach for a weapon- Bro taught you better, how could you let someone sneak up on you, _you’re going to fucking die-_

Warm breath in your ear, stirring your hair. The pressure of the blade eases up slightly, but still lies threateningly against your skin. Karkat _growls_ , the sound vibrating from his chest and into yours and through your skull.

“Do you really think I’d let you come into my ship and even _consider_ making a mess without any consequences?” He twists his wrist, tilting your head up with the outer curve of the blade. “What fucking possessed you to do something like that?”

You moan, shaky and a little higher than you’d want to call a moan, maybe a whimper. You hope it sounds like fear to him, because if that blade actually bites into your flesh, you might actually cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Karkat.” You breathe, painfully aware of the point of his sickle against your shoulder, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It makes you laugh, shrill and nervous, even as he gives you more space and the sickle leaves your skin. “Jesus fucking Christ, I thought you weren’t in here. Did you just get back? I didn’t even hear you coming.”

“Yeah, I think that much is obvious from the fact that you only reacted when I had you against the fucking door.” He says, sharp as a tack. You turn around as you hear him put down the sickle, and something else metallic jingling around the vicinity of his other hand. Keys?

No, not keys. You think they’re keys for a second but on closer inspection they appear to be a cluster of fine chains, wrapped around his palm, with something hanging off his knuckles.

“Didn’t take you for the type to wear jewelry.” You say, trying to change the subject. He looks confusedly at you and you gesture to his hand, and when he raises it to the light you notice all the pendants are the same shape. Huh. “Didn’t take you for the horoscope type, but I guess I should have known from the little boyscout patch on your duster. Are you actually a Cancer or is this like a Superman’s Ess Means Hope kind of deal?”

“Heretic.” He spits. You raise your hands, maybe still a little on edge from the earlier display, though you’re not ready to admit that even to yourself. The anger sort of flickers out of his expression, but he doesn’t sound any less irritated. “It could mean a lot of things, depending on what you’ve been up to the past few generations, but the threshecutioners? _This_ unfortunate piece of shit,” He jangles the pendants, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look like this before, somewhere between mourning and disdain. “This means everything we stand _against_.”

There’s a moment where the thinly-pressed line of his mouth makes you want to stay quiet, but at the same time, come on, when has Dave Strider ever listened to that little voice that tells him to keep his mouth shut? You cough into your hand and gesture as nonchalantly as you can at the pendants.

“So if it means all that, why do you wear it? And keep it, for that matter.” You lean against the wall and run a hand through your hair. “I mean I figure you could just _not wear it_ if it’s such a pain in the ass, right? I know you're kind of a freak in bed, I have the scars to prove it at this point- thanks a lot for that, by the way, I'm gonna have to explain that to Dirk sometime soon and I really don't think he's going to take well to that fact that I'm dating the alien that abducted me a couple weeks ago, which I guess I have to go over with you too sometime? We _are_ dating, right?”

You pause and cough into your fist. “Getting back on track. I know you’re a fucking weirdo, but why do you bother keeping this junk if it bothers you _and_ means all that shit? I’m all for sticking it to space empires and shit, space empires are pretty universally evil-” He hisses at you at that point, but you ignore it. “-but it sounds like you’re pretty Pro-Empire and this bit kinda doesn’t jive with that. You harboring some secretly seditionist tendencies, Vantas?”

“One,” He says, low and threatening again, and you have to remember that he’s literally like a foot away from a weapon that you yourself don’t know how to use. “If you ever so much as _sound_ like you’re suggesting I am any kind of heretic against the ideals of the Empire I serve, so help me gods both low and high, I will gut you like a fish and hang your corpse to dry as a warning outside my cove. I will carve a message into the stone with your _teeth_ , and it will proclaim to all who bear witness to this monument of your shame that Dave Strider didn’t know what Karkat Vantas is about.”

He jabs a claw at your chest before you have a chance to open your mouth. “ _Two_ , I have the medals and scrimshaws to prove that I’d do this, secrecy be damned. _Don’t fucking test me_.” The look in his eyes makes the idea of prodding him further a lot less appealing, suddenly, when in any other circumstance you’d immediately start spouting some made up slogans about the evils of Imperialism.

God, _Imperialism_ . You feel like Rose just _thinking_ that word.

“And three, even if you were right, it’d be none of your business.” His claw digs a little harder into your shirt. Your skin prickles under it. “We might fuck almost regularly, but I’m pretty fucking sure we’re both old enough to know that doesn’t mean we’re in a quadrant. I don’t even know if you can _do_ quadrants, considering how all the times I’ve tried explaining it has gone over your head.”

“That hurts, really.” You drawl, though it did leave a little sting. You brush his hand aside and straighten yourself out. You still feel a twinge of fear when he glares at you though, and it’s not as unpleasant a fear as you think it should be, like when you get on a rollercoaster or when you remember him slicing you up. Which is a fucked up comparison, all said, because one is a recreational activity and the other was a sadistic science experiment.

“So about your... medals.” You say, and if there’s a little tremor in your voice when you say it, you’re pretty sure he hasn’t known you long enough to pick up on it. “How come I‘ve never seen them? You don’t keep them on a corkboard in your little room back there, do you? You struck me as the kind of guy who’d jump at the chance to show off his martial prowess at every turn.”

He cuts off your attempted escape with a neat little step to the side, as if he was just moving to put the pendants down on a nearby jut in the wall that he’s decided to use as a desk. The way he side-eyes you says you’re sticking around for storytime, though. At least you finally get a better look at the little iron loops, how some of them are pocked, or blackened, or stained with what looks almost like dark paint, as he spreads them out and starts untangling the chains and twine. Some of it looks disturbingly like _hair._

“I keep them in a box. They’re heavy, shiny, and noisy; I almost can’t believe I really have to tell you that it’s a bad idea when I’m trying to scrape by with as little notice as possible.” He hops up and sits beside his little hoard, as if daring you to make a run for it, as if he really does think you’re that dumb. Maybe you wish you were, because it’s getting kind of suffocating in here.

You hop up onto the desk yourself instead, which stuns him long enough that you feel weirdly smug about the way his lip twitches at the corner and the way his hands tense beside his pendants as if he were about to grab for you.

“I guess if that’s the case, then you should tell me what the hell you’re doing with these for real, instead of listening to me suggest fun alternatives.” You let yourself smile back, and it gives you almost the same thrill as watching him tear off his suit the first time did, dark and heady and shit your boner’s probably coming back, of all times. You lean forward, elbows on your knees, regarding him with your chin cupped in one hand. “I’m waiting, camp counselor. Afterwards we can roast marshmallows and have a singalong.”

“You’re even less coherent than usual.” He frowns. It’s funny, because a second ago you were pissing yourself in actual fear, and that look actually doesn’t make prickles go up your spine. Not the usual way, at least. Then he looks back down and loops one of the chains around a finger, raising the attending pendant with it between you, against his knuckles. The surface is pocked with what might once have been little bubbles from casting, and you can see faint green in the marks, like the remnants of verdigris not quite cleaned out.

“Cultists wear these. Didn’t really know about them until I was off-planet, and it turns out they wear my fucking sign like you humans wear- what was it? Some other instrument of torture. A flogging pole or whatever. They think it’s the sign of their savior, He who champions the lowbloods and will rise again to bring about the End, bluh, bluh, bluh.” He looks somber for a moment. “Unfortunate mutants with garbage blood, red especially, sometimes get it as an actual sign. It’s come to mean Lost Trial Data in the caverns, but it’s a sign, and that means an allowance, a lusus, and a hive post-pupation.”

“‘Course.” He grips the chain tighter. The pendant shakes on his hand. “Much as I felt some kind of bond with my lusus and got a decent enough hive, it wouldn’t need to be _such a goddamn production_ if it weren’t for the original trashblood that branded all mutants cull-on-sight. Would you believe me if I told you the first time someone tried to cull me, I was _three?_ I don’t know how I got that far either.”

“What, like three years old?” You can’t imagine him being three years old. You can’t imagine him any less than what faces you now, just like you can’t imagine yourself any younger than thirteen most days, even though you know it probably happened. “You told me you lived on a planet of baby-eaters but I figured that was you guys yourselves being fucked up, not public ordnance to devour the young. What the fuck?”

“Long story. Closer to seven years for your species.” You very staunchly do not make a noise of disbelief and/or distaste. A three year old, maybe, but a seven year old is a _tiny person_. He snorts at your appalled silence. “Please. Got out of there because I papped that raging nookwipe so hard he couldn’t tell his nubs from his horns. Not the greatest move I could have made, I know, but I dare you to say anything against it.” You shudder and force yourself not to imagine some kid doing whatever the hell papping is. You don’t actually know, but context doesn’t make the suggestion pretty.

He grins and you think of Jurassic Park. “And then I showed him my sign and he knelt and prayed to me, whereupon I stabbed him in the neck with a broken chair leg in disgust.”

You snap out of it like he slapped you, the fucking sadist.

(You’re kind of thankful, though, even if your dick is suffering some kind of emotional whiplash. It’s as impressive as it is disturbing.)

Your lip curls. “Because of fucking course you murdered someone at six years old. Why am I even acting surprised.” You gesture at the pendant. “And after _that_ horrifying revelation, I don’t think you get to knock _me_ for talking about my tragic backstory. The role of Angsty Shonen Deuteragonist is firmly taken by yours truly, because I was here first. On this beach. Because I lived here before you did.”

He narrows his eyes, but seems to accept it, spinning the pendant to wrap the chain around his fingers before unspooling it back between you. “He wore this around his neck, which I found after I went through the rest of his stuff for pocket change and threw out everything else. Not sure if dad ate him after the fact, but his quadrants didn’t come after me. Hopefully he just didn’t have quadrants.”

You kind of want him to bare his teeth again, sharp and mean, as opposed to whatever strange sympathy he’s laying out for the guy who _literally tried to kill him_.

So you try to get things back on track. First time for everything, right?

“That’s about the time you started collecting these?” You say, glancing between him and the pendant again behind your shades. It’s actually pretty hard to see it with your shades on, but knowing what he did, you keep trying to look for it against the grey of his skin, keep trying to see if you can spot the shaky glint of it and maybe stop imagining a furious, demented child wielding a bloody chair leg. “I take it you collected them a lot later, or you kept getting attacked by your own damn cult in your own damn home.”

Not exactly the best way to win Alien Jesus’ favor, guys. Unless it is, you don’t know, and you don’t really care, because he drops the necklace with a faint clatter and a chuckle that sends a shudder down your spine, picking up a second one and holding it up to what light is in the pod.

“Yeah, much later, after I learned about it being the cult that made my life Hell. This one here is one of my favorites.” He says, bringing it closer for you to look at, resting in the middle of his palm. “Pretty clean, right? This guy actually came up to me, pulled me aside; I thought he was going to have a try at killing me because of some misplaced bravado, some fucked up internal logic that only made sense to him, that just because I’m a mutant doesn’t mean I can be a real threshecutioner.”

“It turned out he was there to come begging me for my blessing upon his moirail or his bloodline or whatever the fuck, I don’t remember. But he showed me the necklace, kneeling at my feet, spewed all that shit about hemoequality and how he never thought he’d meet someone like me, bluh bluh bluh, I was sick of it before he got halfway through.” He grins like it’s the funniest thing in the world and does this clawing, grasping gesture with the hand holding the necklace, the chain wrapped around his wrist, right in front of your nose. “Grabbed the poor sucker by the horns and kneed him in the snout before he knew what hit him. Most satisfying crushing noise ever, though it wasn’t enough to do anything except make him scream.”

“No shit?” You laugh nervously and try to look concerned, or fascinated, or really anything but how you actually feel as you listen. You think you should be horrified. Instead you’re imagining him as he is now, maybe a little brighter, a little more unreal, a lot more vicious. You’re imagining some faceless unfortunate getting their face crunched against his knee while he grins over their squalling, gasping form and to your surprise- and somehow you wish you were horrified instead- your awkward halfie is gaining new life and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to go down easy this time.

It only gets worse as he continues. “Yeah, no shit, and his horn even came off in my hand from it. I guess maybe he was screaming from that, if he had to scream past the crushed snout. Blood everywhere- all over my pants, all over my hands, some of it probably got on my face from how hard the dumb fuck was thrashing.” It dawns on you that he really, truly, does not give a shit, the way he so gleefully describes what comes next. “There was even more blood when I stabbed him in the eye. Just sort of _splooshed_ right out of there. Not my best idea, but it punched all the way through and he went down like a stone.”

“Just like that.” It strikes you that this is the least you’ve said and the most he’s said since the two of you have started being a thing. It strikes you that he’s telling you about how he’s _killed_ people, and you knew, logically, that he had, but being faced with the silvery little trophies somehow makes it more _real_. “You just very casually ripped off a part of a guy’s own body and killed him with it. Damn.”

(It strikes you, additionally, that this somehow makes it more _hot_ , if the ache between your legs has anything to say about it.)

“It would have lasted longer if I hadn’t been such a wriggler about it at the time.” He huffs, as if this is something to get _defensive_ about, as if that would make it _more acceptable_ , the implications of that are killing you and he doesn’t even _know_. “It could have gone like this one, here.” He doesn’t pick this one up, just taps it with a claw; you notice the pendant is pristine, but there’s some discoloration on the chain itself.

You guess before he even opens his mouth. It’s all downhill from this point; how he gestures and snaps the chain he’s still holding taut between his hands and you imagine it’s _your_ neck he’s wringing with it, the chain biting into your throat. It should be fucked up, too fucked up to consider, you shouldn’t be thinking of someone else’s death like this, but he describes the light going out of their eyes and you subconsciously tug at your collar, trying to breathe deeper. You count yourself lucky you’re a beta or the room would stink with your pheromones, probably. You count yourself _less_ lucky that he finds this encouraging and describes setting someone on fire, and the image of him snarling through the flames like a demon makes your dick jump to full attention.

“Are you still listening or are you doing that thing where you pretend to be interested just enough that I know you’re pretending?”

“Hm? What, me? I’m not getting off to this, no, that’d be sick in the not-cool way.” He raises an eyebrow and you actually parse what he said and blush so deeply that you’d have put any reputation you may have had with him in the grave if it wasn’t dim and reddish in here already, so deeply you’re legitimately surprised that your dick is still pressing uncomfortably into the seam of your pants.

The way you’ve sat up too, Karkat has _definitely_ also noticed. There’s a long, stifling moment where he glances between your face and your cock, slowly and deliberately, as if to tell you _that is absolutely a boner_ and _I have taken note of said boner, don’t even try to pretend otherwise_. You gulp as the moment stretches onwards, fully expecting him to point it out and ask about it with his characteristic sort of subtlety (aka none), and then he… doesn't.

He picks up another pendant, completely unmarked except for a little rust. There’s something somber and cruel and challenging in the set of his lips and the intensity of his eyes. You gulp, thickly.

“If you’re still good to listen, then shut up and listen.” His voice is low and he glances up at you like he’s telling you a secret. You nod in a short burst of sharp, twitchy jerks that may as well be shaking.

He leans in slightly. You can feel his breath, very slightly rank but mostly just warm. “This was from one of the few that fought back. I'd culled another redblood, one a lot more in-line with their ideals, and hadn't realized he had a bodyguard. The fucker was pretty shit at his job, screaming at me while he tried to attack, but I can admit he wasn't completely shit at fighting if he could hold his own for long enough to piss me off.”

“I dislocated his elbow first. Hooked it with my sickle intending to slice his arm right off, but the angle wasn't quite right and he was wearing some kind of hide too thick to cut through like that, so when I pulled there was a _really_ loud pop. Went limp almost immediately and he _still_ tried to attack, but I guess it hurt enough that he started getting sloppy.” You gulp again as he continues. You find yourself swallowing a little too much spit just at the images he paints, the brutality of it all, even secondhand with only his motions to illustrate. “Cracked him right in the side, right over the grubscars, and I swear I felt a couple thoracic struts _shatter. Crushed_ under the sickle, I didn't even know I could _do_ that. I look back on it and I know it was all momentum, but in that moment I was focused entirely on _wrecking his shit.”_

He shifts closer in his seat, closer towards you. You're dimly aware of how he’s pushed aside the other pendants and _deeply_ aware that he’s looking into your eyes through your shades, and you’re gripping the edge of your seat as he hovers too close and too hot and giving off pheromones like it’s going out of style. They aren't any kind of human pheromones, that much you can tell, but you don't need a chemical signal to think this is the sexiest thing to ever happen to you since your first desperate revengefuck in the pod.

Somehow it makes you quail, even as your cock strains harder. It hurts like a bitch and you can't bring yourself to move.

“So I hit him again, just the same way, right in the other shoulder. Felt something else crack, so hard and so loud that I felt it all the way up my arm when he went down, and now he had two useless arms and looked like he was ready to start kicking and biting like a cornered scurryfiend and I had all the time in the world.” You shiver as he tilts your head up with the tips of two fingers, clawpoints itching where they press under your chin.

He taps your collarbones. “I kicked these in. Would have ground them in if that didn't have the risk of ending things too early.” He skitters his claws over your knees. “I had to step on him to break these, pulling up an ankle at a time the wrong way up. Worth it to feel the flesh tearing right under the skin in my hands.”

You should feel sick as he taps various points on your hand and lovingly describes _chewing_ his victim’s metacarpals into bloody bonemeal, but you imagine blood dripping down his chin and fire in his eyes, and his voice begins to drone as the fantasy gets away from you and you imagine the blood running in bright, hot lines down his half-nude body, imagine him slicking his hands in it and touching himself, the eerie luminescence of his eyes boring into you as he forces you to your knees and stuffs himself down your throat, growling, hissing, _I fucking dare you to bite me just so I can_ **_tear out your throat_ **

You groan in the back of your mouth and he stops, and you're sitting with your back to the wall and Karkat’s teeth too close and like a _complete fucking idiot_ , you tumble right off the edge of your seat.

You lay here in shocked silence for maybe a quarter of a minute, thinking along the lines of _golly fucking gosh have I ever just ruined the goddamn mood_ before you think _oh_ and then you don't think because Karkat straddles your hips and traps you on the floor, looming over you like a nightmare had an ill-fated one-night-stand with one of your wet dreams.

You look from the arch of his thighs braced around your hips and up his taut belly, up to his mouth and the gleaming grin he levels you with. It takes you a second to see your reflection in his eyes and realize your shades came off on the way down, and you can't look away long enough to tell where.

You think he looks kind of hungry, and you think you know what kind of meal he’s gunning for. You think it even more when he watches the movement of your throat a little too intently as you swallow. “Is this going where I unironically really fucking hope this is going?” You ask, hating the reedy, nervous crack in your voice as you speak. He rolls his eyes and, and there's a moment of terror ( _need, arousal, prickling up your spine and up your cock, churning your gut_ ) that thinks he's going to actually _bite_ you before he murmurs against the shell of your ear instead.

“You seem to be under the bizarre impression that I want you dead and you want to die. I'm going to tell you how this goes down instead.” God, you can still feel his teeth against your skin and you shiver a little more at the thought of how easily he could rip right into you. He purrs against the sensitive skin of your neck. “I'm going to get up and get these fucking clothes out of the way, I'm going to fuck you into a shivering mess, and you're going to do your level best to keep up or I will throw you into the nearest pit and leave you there to regret your life choices.”

He licks you just in that little dip where your jaw meets your skull and you bite your lip. “I think I might regret a few anyway, but fuck it.” You say, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down for a kiss before he can say anything about that. You don't think you can take much more of this anyway, and you can feel the squirming lump at the crotch of his weird spacesuit that tells you much the same of him.

You moan openly into the kiss, grinding against him in a way that makes him chirr. One of his hands moves up and runs pinprick-light claws against the side of your neck, itching and sharp but making you want to follow his hand despite what a phenomenally bad idea that would be. It's too late by the time you realize what he’s up to; those claws suddenly bite into your still-healing shoulder right through the fabric of your shirt, right before he withdraws them from your flesh just enough that he doesn't tear your arm off when he yanks back and ruins your clothes.

“Jesus _shitting_ Christ, man, that is not cool; I told you last time that I did not want to walk home looking like I'd got a face full of the wrong end of a puma, mother _fuck_ ,” The new wounds sting brightly and somehow make the older ones on your back ache as you bring up a hand to check the damage. You vividly remember being in this position, bleeding and half-naked with Karkat above you. The difference is you don't think he's going to ride your dick this time, though that doesn't stop your dick from pulsing between you one bit. Not even being used as his personal scratching post seems to deter it when it gets like this; if anything, despite your complaints, the pain is _encouraging_.

You tilt your head up to look at him and you barely even care that you're not wearing your shades right now, which really, _has_ to be the true testament to how fucking hot those stories of his were. You imagine there's blood in his teeth. When you see his hands for a second as you help him get the rest of your shirt out of the way, you see it staining his hands.

You breathe deep, smell him like fire in your lungs. “God do I want to eat you out right now.” You say. “Fucking _shit_ , Karkat, it is _completely_ unfair how much I want to let you do things to me, it's probably some kind of _illegal._ ”

“Knowing what you’ve been asking me to do? It _is_ illegal here, dumbass.” He grins again, kisses up your throat with his teeth pressed to your skin like he really will bite it out. “I'd barely get any payoff either, you selfish prick.”

You moan again as he grinds into you, hard and hot and your cock just on the verge of blowing then and there. You feel the full-bodied shiver he makes at the sound, the purr rumbling in his chest, and then he’s off you and you have to resist the urge to whimper like a kicked dog. When you look up at him, he’s fiddling with the seal of his suit at the neck. _Oh._ “Luckily for you, this isn’t about what _you_ want.”

You move to get up and help him but he _steps_ on you, planting a foot right on your chest, heavy with some kind of weight in the slightly raised heel. Maybe some other day you’d mock him about wearing puppy heel boots, but today you’re too busy appreciating what they do for his legs. You instinctively grip his ankle to keep him from crushing your sternum, or maybe just as an excuse to touch him, and when you look up you’re breathless for a lot more reasons than the weight on your chest. He’s careful enough not to push down too hard, but you can see the tension in his legs where he’s holding himself up and keeping the pressure _just_ there.

You look a little to the left and you _also_ see the impatient squirm of his dick, which doesn’t sound like it should be hot in the slightest, but makes you breathe in sharply as you try to get a little more air to your sex-fogged brain. He chuckles darkly and your gut clenches like how you’d imagine heat might feel, desperation for him to just _take what he wants of you._

“You’re honestly killing me here, I hope you know that.” You mutter, letting your head fall back against the floor as you look up to his face and idly rub circles into the jut of his ankle.

He digs his heel into your chest very slightly and grins as he digs the toe in after, like a massage. “You think so, but you know I could do a lot more than step on you if I wanted to actually kill you, _bitch._ ” The emphasis on that word makes you squirm. Does he know what he just said in English? The look in his eye makes that a solid _probably._ “I could crush your heart like this, you know. It wouldn't even be hard, you're so fucking _delicate._ Or your throat; I could put my foot up here....”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ you actually make a noise in the back of your throat at the deliberate, dangerous pressure of his foot shift in up to the base of your neck. When you look down and follow the movement with your eyes, he's finally stripped to the waist and easing his foot off you so he can get the suit off the rest of the way and _shit_ you recall pretty vividly that he's naked under there. Even if you didn't remember that, it's pretty easy to tell by his hips that that's the case. You want to bite his thigh. You want to _worship_ him.

(Obscenely. Thoroughly. With your tongue. That kind of thing.)

(He wiggles as he peels the right, rubbery suit off his legs and you're pretty sure you’re going to get the chance from the hungry way he looks pointedly at your mouth.)

“I thought you said trolls didn't do oral.” You chuckle, and try not to make it seem like you want to grab his hips and shove your tongue into the weird, coiling heat of his alien snatch immediately. Your hands hover uncertainly behind him, at the small of his back, as he straddles your head. Thighs that feel like steel cable on either side of you, you don’t think there’s a better place to be by this side of the continent. You try not to show it and you’re pretty sure you’ve failed.

“Maybe I’m a little different.” He says, and grabs you by the hair, twisting it almost painfully in his grip. You feel his claws prickle your scalp. “Or maybe I’m just getting ready to crush your skull between my legs if you don’t do a good enough job at it.”

You shiver, but you huff against his labia with a chuckle. He caught on _fast_. “Can you really say that when I’m the only one who’s ever done it for you?”

The way his eyes narrow with his smile is nothing short of predatory. There’s a crazed moment  where you could swear you feel him squeeze around your head. “Don’t make that sort of assumption, Strider; I had to get off _somehow_ when I couldn’t contribute to the Empire’s genepool.”

The thought that someone else has been in the position you’re in and done _better_ makes something curl in your gut almost worse than the arousal, so you take the hint and shut up so you can tilt your head up and drag your tongue against the slit, suckling at the little fold of flesh at the top where a clit should be, between his cunt and his writhing cock. You don’t find a clit, but your merciless oral ministrations are having a pretty immediate effect anyway; he moans, rolling his hips forward against your mouth, and you can taste the sour-spicy-sweet of weird troll fluids already starting to drip against your tongue. It’s amazing how reactive he can be; you wonder, just a little, how much time he’s spent with just his hands to help him here on Earth.

The image of him masturbating spurs you on more than you care to admit; you will be _damned_ if you don’t show him a good enough time to come back for more. You suck and slurp and _really_ get into it, and your efforts are rewarded with a more insistent press of skin against your mouth and a warbling, chirping trill that definitely didn’t come from this planet. You tease the fold with your tongue just a little more before he tilts his hips to guide you down towards the clutching, twisting heat of the entrance proper, and in your enthusiasm to eat him out you nearly get punched in the eye by his dick.

“ _Jesus_ , fuckin’-”

You pull back. Your eye has alien dickslime in it and that’s probably the least sexy thing that’s happened in the past hour already, but Karkat makes the ugliest snort-laugh that makes your cheeks burn all the same. The wicked way his teeth gleam as he grins down at you makes it worth it, in a way, as he wipes away the slick on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, the clawpoint dangerously close to your eye but, blessedly, not even nicking an eyelash.

“It’s a good look for you.” He says. He runs his thumb across your cheek again while his cock squirms lower, painting your lower lip warm and sticky. You can hear the trill behind his voice, like a giant cicada or distant gunfire, alien noise his translator can’t quite get rid of.

“ _Suck it_.”

He growls like _that_ and you don’t need to be told twice, even though your mind trails off into a comeback that makes no sense even to you. You moan and immediately open your mouth, tugging his hand away from your face so you don’t gouge out an eye on his claws as you take him two, three inches at a time, forcing him down despite the odd angle, and you drink in the noise he makes for it like you drink in the taste of him, heavy with pheromones that make no sense but all the same make you _want_.

He trills again, taking his hand from your face and cupping the back of your head as he readjusts the way he’s practically riding your face. His cock curls against the roof of your mouth, tickling uncomfortably as it feels around all over the place and leaves that taste all over every surface in there. Now that you’ve had a little time to process, It’s really fucking similar to cherry red hots for some reason?

Doesn’t seem to be doing anything to stop your boner, though; you’re going to be tasting him for hours and the thought only makes you start trying to hump the air behind him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to eat cinnamon candy without getting hard ever again. You close your eyes and moan, sucking and bobbing your head with only his hand between your cranium and the floor, only his mercy between breathing and suffocating on his cock. You’re getting lightheaded anyway. Your hands go up to the small of his back, thumbs fitting over his hipbones as you try to push up, just a little; you only manage to crowd yourself in like an idiot, and he growls again, claws tensing on your scalp.

You shiver, and moan around him, cracking one eye open to look up at him and only getting a good look at his abs and the barest glimpse of his smiling mouth, his gleaming teeth.

He thrusts, and a couple inches past the tip slide into your throat.

You gag of course, but it’s smooth and tapered and he does seem to have some control of it, so it’s not as bad as it could be. You don’t feel your lunch coming up or anything, which is just as well, because he’s pushed your face up against his crotch and is shivering against your hands; you realize he’s coming down your throat, surprisingly thick, heavy fluid that you have to gulp down.

You feel it settle in your stomach as he pulls out. A couple more bursts of it splatter across your face while you cough, the sound you make afterwards being somewhere between a whimper and a begging mewl, and this time you’re too horny to even _try_ to convince yourself otherwise. His tentacock still squirms against your cheek, but you can feel him trembling where your hands are on him and you feel him _twitch_ when you mouth at the underside of his dick.

You can’t even imagine what you must look like, what that must feel like, but it’s apparently good enough that he lets go of your hair to run the pads of his fingers soothingly over your scalp, like you’re some kind of pet.

He chirrs something you can’t understand, too low or maybe he turned off the translator sometime during the sloppy blowjob you gave him, but you feel warm and heavy and don’t really mind. A light smack to your cheek wakes you out of your reverie and reminds you that, oh yeah, you still haven’t gotten off, and the greedy fucker just used your mouth to get _himself_ off without helping you out in the slightest.

(That’s a lie. You got so much out of that it’s not even funny.)

“I could use a hand here right about now.” You say it and it comes out rough and garbled, and also you cough because your mouth is sticky and cinnamon-y with spit and alien cum. You feel him swipe his thumb over your lower lip and push into your mouth, pinning down your tongue as he readjusts himself.

You are starkly reminded that you have pants on when he starts trying to rip _those_ off. You swear, and though it comes out more like “moffer _fugger_ ”, you’re pretty sure he gets the message when you smack him on the thigh and then bite him.

He growls as he yanks his fingers from your mouth and, thankfully, the hem of your pants. You cough again. “Hey, I can’t walk home _pantsless,_ too; have some common fucking decency, do you normally walk around buck-ass nude after-”

Well, you didn’t have a clever way to say “after having a guy fuck you” anyway, so it’s not too much of a loss that you choke on your words when he grabs your dick. Still, it’s uncomfortable as all Hell when he does it, his grip slightly too tight and your underwear _and_ your pants making it even tighter. If you weren’t so horny you could explode, you would have told him to let go.

You moan and buck into his fingers, which- like the horrible fucking _monster_ he is- he pulls away when you do. You cover your face and groan instead, resisting the urge to rub your hands down your face. “ _Please_ , you son of a bitch, I’m _dying_ here.”

“You’re lucky I don’t feel like fucking a corpse today.” That should be the most disgusting thing he’s said throughout this entire horrorshow, and yet it makes your dick twitch in the loose confines of his grip. You feel him pull away entirely, lazily plopping into a seating position next to you. He looks over you critically. “Get your pants off so I don’t shred them like you’re so afraid I’m going to do.”

You get out of them in record time. Your foot snags and you curse, but you still get out of them faster than you think you ever have in your life. Karkat sneers at you, upper lip curled at one corner in something that’s probably disgust or just pity, but you’ve heard him ramble on about how trolls feel about the word to know you’re not going to mention it and risk getting blueballed further.

Speaking of your balls, the floor is cold and slightly gritty and you really don’t want to have them touching it any longer than necessary, so you poke Karkat with your toes as you finally get yourself untangled from your underwear. “This good enough for you, yet?”

“Plenty.” His smile is terrifyingly wide, and like the hot mess you are, you just want him to bite you. He does something better though, straddling your hips this time and pinning you back onto the floor. Wet heat presses against your cock, and you’re amazed you don’t cum then and there with him sitting on you, pinning your needy dick in place. He slides his hips up along your crotch and your brain melts into a slush of little more than _oh,_ **_fuck_** _me._

“Look at me.” He purrs, almost gently, as he tilts your face up so you stop watching his hips move, his still-squirming alien cock. His eyes burn, and your own eyes are having a hard time focusing on them, especially when he does one more slide down and you feel more than hear his breath hitch and the sudden, tight heat of him swallowing your cock.

Your ears are full of white noise and his growling, your own breath comes in stuttering, needy pants. He leans down and kisses you, tongue plunging into your mouth like he owns you.

(He may as well.)

The scars on your chest pull tight and painful when he licks across your teeth and your whole body tenses, and the reminder jolts something hot into your guts. You’re screaming in your own head, for air and for orgasm, and he’s moving so _slowly._ You could count heartbeats between each rise and fall of him riding your cock, but you don’t because all you think is sex noise. He kisses terribly, too much tongue, too much sharpness, taking turns between the two, and you’re whining for more, your hands on his hips gripping tight, your own hips trying to fuck harder into him.

At least he’s starting to get into the rhythm of it, alien refractory periods are weird like that and you don’t even give a shit because he’s starting to bounce on your cock, warbling, trilling, you swallow up his noises and make your own, guttural human neediness intermingling with whatever the fuck noise he’s making.

He breaks the kiss and licks his lips of blood. You realize you’ve shredded your lower lip on his teeth and the sting comes to you then, but you don’t care, you’re whimpering, hips twitching up into him. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, _don’t stop,_ ”

You feel his hand on your throat and shut up as he starts to press down, wheezing through your teeth. Half a beat later, you realize you can’t see him not because you’re passing out but because you’re pulling the stupidest fucking sex face ever as he rides you into the floor and your eyes are rolling up in their sockets.

“Shit- f-fucking- _please,_ ” You’re only half-aware of what you’re saying, but some god out there must be listening because he lets you breathe and rolls his hips down like a crashing wave, taking you to the hilt and moaning above you. You feel something hot and wet splatter across your chest and down your balls and realize he just came again.

That is the hottest fucking thing ever and you cum at just about the moment you realize that, convulsing under him, probably giving him a little extra stimulation as you lose control of some of your finer motor functions for a minute. Distantly you’re aware of him pulling off you, cool air almost too much for your softening dick. Your hips are slightly bruised from how hard he rode you, moreso your ass from being bumped into the floor so hard. It’s a pretty great feeling, and you’d be content to lie there in the afterglow if he wasn’t lightly, repeatedly smacking you in the face.

“Wake up, you idiot, I’m not done with you.” He frowns and prods your face more insistently. “It’s only been a couple rounds, _hey._ ”

You frown and try to sluggishly knock his hands away, more than a little confused. “You just came twice in quick succession, and also _I_ held on for as long as humanly possible. What the fuck, dude, how hungry is that pussy of yours for Strider-grade American sausage, anyway?” You snort, looking blearily up at him.

He rubs his temples. “Okay, no, never say that again. My libido _almost_ dug a hole to die in just hearing that.” He grabs you by the chin, steadying your face so you can look him in the eye. “Keyword being almost. How many times did you cum while I was stuffing your face full of bulge?”

“Not at all, but I think I came several years off my life when you were strangling me on both ends.” You smile up at him, and you’re not sure if you’re making any sense because you can see your reflection in his eyes and you look like an idiot and also like bloody murder. Literally. Red smears all over your mouth and cheeks. It’s like a bad horror movie effect. You grin. “I can’t actually make it come up again right away, you know. I’m not afraid to admit that. It’s a failure of basic human biology and I don’t think any of your prodding around in my guts did anything but fucking _traumatize_ me, anyway.”

“You’re really going to bring that up in the middle of pailing.” He says it flatter than day old soda, and the look he gives you isn’t any livelier, either. Half a second later, the cruel gleam comes back to his eyes, and you have to admit, even if you’re sore and your dick is begging for mercy, you feel a little twitch down below. “I think I know how to deal with this.”

“Does it involve extraterrestrial boner pills? I should warn you I’m not about that li-” You’re cut off halfway when he shoves you over, practically pouncing on you. You immediately tense up, your brain goes into survival mode; you’re ready to fight him and you would if he didn’t weigh like half a ton of bricks despite being a couple inches shorter than you, all of it wiry muscle. He pins you expertly and your breath hisses through your nose, his hands on your wrists, your fingers scrabbling at the floor; you raise your hips to try and throw him off and feel the warm, wet squirm of his dick against your ass, and you want to make a horrible, horrible joke about it but your voice is caught in your throat as you feel the _oh shit_ ping in the back of your brain.

You croak submissively. You didn’t know humans could _croak submissively_ , but there you go, and he nuzzles the back of your neck like he’s breathing in pheromones you don’t have. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could smell fear. Hell, you’d be surprised if he could smell it behind how turned on you are again; your dick protests weakly as blood surges back to it and you whimper.

“Karkat- fuck, _Karkat_ , oh God,”

He purrs against the side of your neck and you whimper again with a full-body shiver as he licks. You feel his teeth press against the skin, a warning maybe, or maybe he doesn’t know you can feel them. (You want him to know, you want to have a reason to be scared. You press your ass back against him in what you hope feels like an invitation.)

“This is fucking filthy.” He growls. You moan, weakly, brokenly, as you feel it rumble in his chest behind you. He nips your ear and you just beg more, _jesus, fuck, fuck me, please_ . “And here I thought _human biology_ meant you couldn’t get it up again.”

“ _Please_ ,” You breathe. He growls as you feel the tip of his dick probing along your skin, and he gets impatient and reaches down to spread you open, and it feels like a _tongue_ back there. Your breath hitches again. “Fuck, fuck, yes, _please_ ,”

(Later, you’ll probably pretend you weren’t begging like this, but for the moment it’s one of the best feelings in the world.)

You sigh in- not relief, something else, something needier, more carnal; you sigh and shiver under him and then you whine again when you start feeling the girth in your ass. He’s not the first guy to fuck you up the backdoor, but it feels for lack of better word _really fucking weird_ , like a tongue where a tongue definitely can’t reach. He growls again, or purrs, nipping at your shoulder in a way that would be sweet if you weren’t still completely aware of his teeth.

“Please, yes, just like that _please_ ,”

He snaps his hips against you and you arch your back, and then he’s got a hand on the back of your neck as he pushes your face to the floor.

“ _Fuck me,_ ” You gasp, and for once he does just that. He _slams_ into you, without care or concern, skidding you forward slightly, and you’d complain if you weren’t so into it, pleading for more in desperation, tears leaking down your face from pleasure-pain. You’re so, so lucky he’s got natural lubricant and a weird, tapered dick, but you’re going to be sore from this later anyway because he’s thicker around the base and stretching you out as he goes in.

He growls over you as he ruts into your ass, muttering things in English and Alternian in turns; you’re not sure how that works, you’re pretty sure his translator is fritzing, or maybe there’s just no equivalent for the noise and meaning behind his words in some places. You don’t really care, you’re too busy getting thoroughly fucked, his claws biting into the back of your neck and the jut of your hip, his hips slapping against your ass. He’s hotter than he has any right to be inside you, pressure and heat pressing down on your prostate in a way you can’t fully describe and can’t bear to anyway. One of your hands is flat to the floor, trying to keep your balance; the other is between your legs, stroking your aching cock in time to his thrusts.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” He huffs above you, rolling his hips into you in a way that makes you want to thrash. “I’ve seen how this goes, you want me to use you as a fucking pail; you’d be gagging for it if I let you, you greedy fuck.”

“ _Yes,_ ” You wheeze, his cock curling into you, making you curl your toes. “God, please, yes, use me, fill me up, I didn’t think I had an inflation kink before this but _fuck me, Karkat,_ ”

He groans, leans down, and bites into your shoulder. You’re distantly terrified that he’s going to pull back with a chunk of flesh in his mouth, but the pressure stays and you’re pretty sure you’re crying from how much it hurts, warmth leaking down your neck, but it’s so good, and he’s moving faster now as he digs his teeth in, you pant and whimper and finally you feel him _cum._

There’s less than earlier, but it makes you uncomfortably full as his cock goes rigid in your guts and spurts its load. Later you can worry about bleeding, you don’t think you’ll be able to tell between his jizz and your blood very well, but in that moment you find yourself screaming to orgasm as you pump your cock until it drips down your knuckles.

You relax under him, boneless, nearly passing out, but you remember his words and find yourself smiling before things go dark anyway. You distantly feel him licking at your wounds and pulling out before you’re not aware of anything at all.

You’re not sure how long passes after that.

You are, however, sure that you aren’t waking up naked in a ditch.

For one, it’s comfortably dark. Two, you’re warm. Way too warm, in fact. Three, whatever you’re lying on is _soft._

It occurs to you that you _could_ be in your own bed, but that isn’t very likely. You open your eyes and groan at your aches and pains, prodding your shoulder and- it’s sealed, as if Karkat hadn’t bitten you at all. Actually, as far as you can tell, all your wounds have mysteriously disappeared. Huh.

But you’re definitely not at home. You’re lying in a round, narrow chamber, smooth-panelled walls the same shade of greyish-pink as- yeah. You’re in the pod. But you don’t recognize this part of it.

Slowly, mindful of your jellylegs, you push yourself up to sitting. It makes you laugh a little when you realize this must be his “bedroom”; he’d never let you see it before, so you suppose that’s a levelup relationship-wise?

Something like that. John would have something dorky to say about it, probably.

You wobble out the open door. When you look behind you, there’s a soft whoosh and the door is gone, replaced by a seamless wall. The wonders of alien technology.

The door’s open and you see firelight. Guess that means it’s nighttime.

You peer out and come face-to-face with Karkat again, a mostly-devoured crab leg in his mouth and a mildly surprised look on his face.

“Coming to check on me?” You ask. You lean against the doorframe and try to look suave.

He snorts, spitting out the shell. “Only to make sure I didn’t kill you. Surprised I didn’t leave you in a ditch after all?”

“... Maybe.” You sniff and readjust your shades before you remember you’re not wearing them, but before you can panic he presses them into your hand. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Get your pants back on and come out, I’ve got food.” He says, and turns around. You notice a couple crabs roasting directly over the fire on a stick, and you wonder where the hell he _got_ those crabs before shaking your head and looking for your clothes. Much as you’d like to partake of his no-doubt terrible cooking, you turn down the food instead.

“How about you come back to my place? To pay you back for the stories and fucking me raw.” You flash your teeth at him and look at the fire. “Pizza will probably beat whatever the hell you found scuttling around in the water, yeah?”

He looks hesitant. For a second you have the harrowing thought go through your mind that he’s going to ask you what the fuck a pizza is, before he tosses the remaining crab into the fire.

“Pizza sounds good.” He says, and pushes your clothes into your chest a little harder. “Now get dressed, I’m _starving._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute.” You say, and start putting your pants on right there in front of him, because hey, he’s seen you naked already.

You get home and order pizza, the kind with all the toppings so he can try as much of it as possible. He picks out the greens and spreads mustard on it like a heathen, but it’s a good meal as long as you don’t share slices.

You also get him to stay the night, so really, who wins here? Definitely you.

**Author's Note:**

> Gorgeous illustration by Essynkardi [HERE.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/240823900395536384/361344638939824128/fearboner_central.png)


End file.
